


At your funeral I will sing the requiem

by Elisexyz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drinking & Talking, Drunk Crowley, Gen, Post-Episode: s10e17 Inside Man, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Read Drowley as you prefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 05:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12834594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “You humans and your inevitable deaths,” Crowley mumbles. “So bloody inconvenient.”Crowley is drunk and thinking about Dean’s funeral, Dean is weirded out. It's funny that, as it turns out, Crowley had no reason to worry about when he'd have to bury the Winchesters.





	At your funeral I will sing the requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Right now I am pretty obsessed with these two, might as well get it ouf of my system.  
>  The title has been stolen from [this song](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/savestheday/atyourfuneral.html), the first scene references Dean and Crowley's talk about family in 10x17, while the second scene follows Crowley's death at the end of s12. You can see Drowley either as platonic or romantic, it's not made explicit.  
>  You can find me con Tumblr as [heytheredeann](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com). Enjoy!

“One of these days you boys are going to get yourselves killed,” Crowley says, briefly gesturing at the cut on Dean’s forehead.

“Been there, done that. Comes with the business,” he replies. The hunt wasn’t even that much of a shit-storm, a regular salt and burn, really, he just got distracted by the scared guy screaming his lungs out and the ghost managed to throw him across a piece of furniture before Sam could burn the bones. And of course, since Dean is the luckiest of them all, he sliced his head open against the corner of said furniture. He’s had worse, and there were no casualties.

“One day it’s going to _stick_ ,” Crowley remarks, looking at him grimly. Judging by his face, he’s been there a while. Dean didn’t come into the bar with the intention of playing Dr Phil, and not even of burying emotions for a change, he just wanted to have a drink and- just relax, really. He could have done it at home, but with that whole Mark of Cain business and Sammy looking all worried whenever his eyes lay on his arm, Dean finds that he needs to look for some solitude once in a while.

But there was an empty chair right next to Crowley and it’s not like they weren’t talking about moms and families a couple of days ago, there’s no use in pretending they can’t have a drink together.

“Well, I hope so,” Dean says. A second too late, at Crowley’s side-eyed look, he realizes that it sounds borderline suicidal, which is- not really accurate. It’s just that, with that Mark and everything, he’s starting to fear deeply what will come of him, and he doesn’t want to stick around forever as a monster. He’s _human_ , he’s supposed to die sooner or later. “Oh, stop looking at me like that,” Dean scoffs, getting a sip of his drink. He’s not the biggest fan of Craig, but he knows by now to trust Crowley’s taste. “Humans die, that’s what they do.”

“Wouldn’t you know everything about that,” Crowley mumbles.

“Watch your mouth,” Dean replies, but it’s half-hearted. “What’s the matter, uh? Mommy dearest still pushing you around? Because I ain’t about to be your emotional punching bag.”

Crowley scoffs. “I sent her away, after your nice little speech.”

“Uh, really?” Dean echoes, and there’s nothing sarcastic in his surprise. He did expect Crowley to give some thought to what he said, but not to just immediately change course of action because of his words. “Well, good for you.”

They stay silent for a while, and it’s Crowley who starts speaking again.

“Am I invited to your funeral, Squirrel?” he asks, randomly.

Dean turns towards him, his eyebrows raised as he chuckles sceptically. “Are you planning on murdering me or something?” he asks. “Because that’s never worked out well for you.”

Crowley scoffs. “No, thanks, I know way better than that by now,” he replies. “I was just thinking. Given that you lack self-preservation and all.”

Dean blinks, and he feels a laugh originating in his throat. He’s way too sober for this kind of stuff. “Crowley, are you drunk?” he asks. Can demons even _get_ drunk without robbing a whole store? “Cause it sounds pretty much like you are worrying all over the place.”

“I’m merely stating facts,” Crowley replies, filling his glass once again. Dean has no idea how long he’s been there, he may _actually_ be drunk. Which wouldn’t be anything new, he has seen him wasted before, but _still_.

“Well, I don’t think I’m gonna care who comes to my funeral,” he finally says. “I’ll count myself lucky if I even _have_ one, considering this.” He pats himself in the arm, and Crowley’s eyes linger there for a couple of seconds, enough for Dean to irrationally fear that he’ll get the same desperate look he keeps seeing on Sam’s face. Crowley just stares blankly, though, before turning his attention to his glass once again.

“Of course you will,” he says. “Moose’s too hellbent on keeping you.”

Dean cracks a smile at that. There’s a sting of worry in the back of his thoughts, but the warmth of Sam’s determination in keeping him around is selfishly comforting most of the time.

“Why are you even thinking about my funeral anyway?” Dean asks. He’s genuinely curious to know what the hell is going on in that head of his.

Crowley shrugs. “I am drunk and I don’t want to go.”

Dean frowns. “You just asked for permission _to_ go,” he protests.

Crowley turns towards him and looks at him as if he was the dumbest creature to ever walk this Earth. “So what, you did go to your people’s funerals, right? I highly doubt you _enjoyed_ it.”

Dean blinks a couple of times, and he’s not really sure about what to dwell on. Crowley’s unfocused gaze is weirding him out itself – he’s more used to fun-drunk-Crowley from his time as a demon –, and then there’s the fact that he just implied that Dean is somehow ‘his people’, which is unsettling and concerning, not to mention the implication that he’d somehow _mourn_ Dean’s death.

“Are you pumped with human blood again?” Dean tries, because that would be a quite good explanation.

“Bloody hell, no,” Crowley replies, before letting out a humourless laugh.

Just when Dean thought it couldn’t get weirder.

“Alright,” he says, slowly. “I find your obsession with my death pretty concerning, for your information.”

“It’s not obsession, I’m just _wondering_ ,” Crowley snarls, looking pretty fucking offended. “I’ll be around forever, sooner or later I’ll have to _see_ it, and I like to be prepared.”

“I’ll- leave instructions not to put devil traps around my pyre?” Dean tries, slowly. At this point, he’s not really sure what Crowley is getting at. Actually, what _part_ of this conversation made sense? The image itself of Crowley watching his body burn doesn’t really make sense.

“How very nice of you,” Crowley replies, sarcastically for some reason. He’s staring at the bottom of his empty glass as if there was something really unpleasant in there and he was trying to send it away with the power of his will. “You humans and your inevitable deaths,” Crowley mumbles. “So bloody inconvenient.”

Before Dean can get a word in, Crowley has disappeared. Dean instinctively gestures at the empty space as if to say ‘ _Really?’_ , before giving a brief look around to make sure that nobody noticed him disappearing. Apparently, nobody did.

“Yeah, nice chat, you’re welcome,” Dean mumbles, emptying his glass.

 

 

There’s nothing left of Crowley to burn, because dragging his body – meatsuit, whatever – out of the portal would have been way too impractical, but it’s the thought that counts.

Dean says goodbye to Crowley while staring at Kelly and Cas’ bodies burning, and it’s only when they are on their way home that he gets a sudden and irrational urge to laugh, as it occurs to him how way back when they got it backwards as they discussed funerals, because this sick universe decided that one little, inconveniently mortal human would get to outlive the King of Hell. It's half-way between unfair and hilarious.


End file.
